


There You'll Be To Take Me Inside

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death mention (not a major character), Hand Jobs, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, being in a glass box of emotions, but really no explicit sex at all, clintasha reprise their roles as married best friends, feat. tony stank aka iron man, introducing natsam as an unlikely duo, it was of david tennant as the doctor and the text was something about, oh yeah and introducing complicated staron, really crappy references to the mcu, remember that famous gif from like 2012, soft and hurting sam and bucky who deserve the world and each other, this is essentially that gif but imagine like everything on fire too, unresolved romantic samsteve conflict, why am i a useless millennial, why do i love incorporating chat logs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 07:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8392210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Falling deeply in love hadn't been on the itinerary when Sam met Bucky for the second time at a Halloween Party hosted by Tony Stark. Cue: crying, flying, rebuilding, all kinds of dying (on the inside), a surgery, a night spent together on a futon as the turning point of everything, literally falling off a building headfirst and life generally trying its hardest not to give Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes what they deserve (which is each other).





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is very silly and it's SO dramatic like @ Nicholas Sparks 1v1 me by my house my guy catch these metaphors 
> 
> I listened to lot of sad stuff while writing this, but I must acknowledge 'Siberia' by Lights for the title, for inspiring the ending, and I also believe there's a simile somewhere here that's almost a direct appropriation of one of the lyrics. Check out the acoustic version of the song to get a glimpse at why I was so in my feelings with this!

To be fair, Sam did the best he could at the very last minute. Stark had only told him about the party yesterday. Even then, Stark himself hadn’t told him but rather an assistant had through email and, thus, Sam had to try and rock Halloween with only one night and a bunch of cardboard he’d scavenged by the dumpster in his arsenal.

That’s how Sam ended up with a half-assed Halloween costume, which was a poor excuse for wings constructed out of the cardboard he’d found out by the dumpster and a leather mask that a one-night-stand from _many_ months ago had left behind after a failed attempt at roleplay. Here he was outfitted this poorly at, of all events, a Stark event.

“I feel like I don’t fit in,” Sam said. He stood alongside an equally under-dressed Steve Rogers. Steve wore a sequinned mask he’d purchased from the dollar store atop his head like a pair of shades.

“Sure you do,” Steve said, but Sam knew it was only because he had nothing else constructive to say.

They stood at the balcony overlooking Stark’s lavish penthouse, which was decked out in Halloween decor complete with flying robots in costume. Everyone who was important was dressed impeccably per the occasion. Those unbothered to adhere to the dress code didn’t seem to be ignored either, but Sam preferred the inconspicuousness even if he _was_ vocalising concerns about feeling misplaced.

“You should've came as Captain America,” Sam said.

“When will you guys ever let me live that down?” Steve groaned.

“Come on! He’s the star-spangled man with a plan,” Sam sang.

Captain America was Steve’s 4th of July and birthday persona, who was birthed out of an excessive amount of alcohol. One night, Steve had gotten exceptionally drunk on an uncommon liquor that Clint had acquired from god-knows-which seedy establishment on the way over, which granted Steve the creative wit to dictate this persona complete with a backstory.

It was that same night that Sam had met Steve’s cute friend for the first and last time. His name was James Barnes, but people called him Bucky, and a drunk Steve assigned Bucky’s role in the narrative as his best friend, which did not deviate from reality. In the story, Bucky had died. It was at that point in Steve’s fantastic narrative that he'd finally thrown up and the story of Captain America was discontinued but immortalised as an inside joke between everyone who’d been present that night.

The inside joke was the only thing Sam had which connected him to Bucky. Bucky had left without exchanging details and more than five words to Sam. It was the end of a love story that never happened in the first place.

At least that’s what Sam thought.

“And to _think_ that I thought that Steve Rogers would use such a momentous night to unabashedly come as his superhero alter-ego.”

Something in Sam awakened at the sound of his voice. It was a voice that was effortlessly lustful, a voice that could capture an audience without even telling a story.

Bucky was finished greeting Steve when his eyes finally met Sam’s. He then said the two words that Sam would go on to remember for the rest of his life.

“Sex mask!” Bucky said with a grin.

“And you got a...fluffy head,” Sam responded.

Sam wished he could fall off this balcony headfirst into the floor below and keep crashing until he penetrated through to the core of the earth far, far, far away from James Barnes and this disaster of an introduction.

“Planning to grow this out actually,” Bucky replied. 

“Uh…You remember Sam? From my birthday,” Steve said.

“Yeah sure,” Bucky said.

Sam felt as if Bucky just reached into his throat, retrieved his heart and chucked it across the room.

‘ _Sure’_ Bucky had said, which based off of Sam’s observations of conversational cues, _sure_ could roughly translate to _‘not really, but I also don’t want to hurt this person’s feelings.’_ Well way to go, James Barnes, because Sam _was_ hurt.

“And you’re… Jim?” Sam said, feigning obliviousness. It was a childish move. But Sam retained the right to be childish. He was having his heart broken.

“It’s James. But it’s also _not_ James. I prefer Bucky,” Bucky said.

“And I prefer Sam as opposed to ‘sex mask,’” Sam said.

“It’s just they wear those in obscure pornos,” Bucky elaborated.

“This is off to a fantastic start,” Steve said, who lingered behind the two of them.

“I wouldn’t know,” Sam said. Although he would _definitely_ know. He had acquired the item through bad sex. “I had a minute to come up with an outfit and came up with that. So excuse me.”

Sam felt as if someone was holding stage lights just above his face. He was close to breaking out into a frantic sweat. He removed the mask.

“I don’t mind the cardboard wings,” Bucky commented.

“Oh thank you.”

“You should see his _real_ wings,” Steve chimed in.

“Is _that_ a sex thing, Rogers?” Bucky asked.

“Ha. Sam’s a part of Tony’s latest project,” Steve explained.

“I’m a guinea pig,” Sam said bitterly.

“Don’t be like that. Tony has a great deal of respect for you,” Steve said.

“I’m also a Stark guinea pig!” Bucky said. He raised an open hand to Sam. It took Sam too long to realise Bucky wanted a high five. Sam high-fived him.

“He wants to change this into something cooler,” Bucky continued. He pointed to his prosthetic left arm. “Yeah. It’s real, not a costume.”

“I didn’t think—“

“No, no. I know,” Bucky interrupted. “Just. Last time I was at a party someone tried to rip it off. Which was _so_ great. Really enjoyed that. Anyway: Stark’s creating his own line of prosthetic limbs. We all had to read these thick booklets on ‘em. I love science, don’t get me wrong, but a lot of the stuff flew over my head. They’re made of metal and it’s also got something to do with neurotechnology. First of its kind in the world apparently and it’s all being developed by him.”

“Well that does sound like Stark-typical marketing descriptions,” Sam said.

Several men Sam didn’t recognise approached Steve. They laughed about a reference Sam didn’t get and then swept Steve away. Then Sam was alone. With Bucky.

“Anyway. What did Stark get you into?” Bucky asked.

Sam’s communicative abilities evaded him. It was strange to have such a beautiful man’s undivided attention.

“Uh, this thing called the EXO-7 Falcon. Stark, apparently along with a line of prosthetic one-of-a-kind limbs, is developing new military equipment. I put my name forward--well, Steve did--and, I guess because of my military background, I got selected for the test pilot.”

The whole process was far more complicated than Sam let on. Months before the program was developed, Sam and Steve engaged in a risky romantic endeavour. It was catastrophic on all levels from the sex to emotional compatibility. The fallout resulted in a rough patch of a mutual silent treatment until, with the aid of Natasha as a mediator, they decided that some best friends should just stay best friends and not attempt to be anything more. In Steve’s weird method of atonement, he put Sam’s name forward for Tony Stark’s latest and greatest test program. As Steve was already a close workmate of Tony’s, Sam was able to jump straight to a first preference.

So by this point, Sam probably owed Steve a lot. Because had that ordeal not happened then he maybe wouldn’t have been able to meet Bucky for a second and proper time.

“So you’re going to go to war for Tony Stark?” Bucky asked, seemingly concerned.

“Huh? Nah. I’m just a part of this testing program. Me and a guy named Riley. We just offer suggestions and test out their equipment based off of pre-existing experience and expertise. It’s all done in a facility,” Sam said.

Sam spoke more about that: his two tours and everything that he could comfortably talk about without putting himself in a terrible state of mind. In return, Bucky shared too. It had turned out that the military was something that they had in common and Bucky’s experience had cost him a left arm. He elaborated no further and Sam didn’t press him for more details.

He spent the night with Bucky and for a brief period Sam thought he was in the clear. Talking with Bucky and learning about him had dampened Sam’s feelings. Rather than an unbridled crush, he learned to see Bucky as a regular person in the span of two hours. After a few drinks they became comfortably physical, slapping shoulders and knocking fists together.

But when Sam and Bucky had to finally part ways at around three a.m. back down on the streets of the insomniac city, Sam felt as if something was physically being ripped from his body. His moment of rationality had been a sick joke and the punchline revealed to Sam that he’d fallen deeper into a hole that life had dug for him. As Bucky’s figure drew further and further away from him, so did a tiny part of Sam.

And did that tiny part of Sam grow big fast.

 

\--

 

James:  
_I don’t know how to use this thing_

Sam:  
_You’re using it right now?_

James:  
_The chat thing is fine.  
Someone I don’t know just sent me friend request. What to do?_

Sam:  
_If u don’t know them u don’t have to accept_

James:  
_Is that how this works? We’re shortening words now. That’s gr8_  
_Technology works wonders_  
_hey man_  
_LOOK AT THAT! Sentences not beginning with capital letters_  
_Speaking of technology how’s being a bird?_

Sam:  
_rlly? Are you 90 yrs old??????  
And good. We’re not flying yet. Designs still being confirmed, equipment needs further developing_

James:  
_Then what’s the point  
Thought you were gonna take me flying today, sport_

Sam:  
_Wow. Ok yea_  
_your 90_  
_AND DON’T SAY IT_  
_don’t correct my grammar_  
_or I’ll kick you’re ass_

James:  
_STOOOOOOOOOOP_  
_The urge_  
_to correct_  
_is real._

Sam:  
_hahahaha_  
_And also_  
_how is Tony Stark treating you?_

James:  
_He’s fine. Ever the gentleman._  
_Still haven’t replaced my prosthetic_  
_Meant to undergo therapy._  
_There’s surgery involved._  
_Great._  
_Because more therapy is what I need._

Sam:  
_Well it’s good they take ur mental health into consideration. It’s not bad for you. All that exists to help people._

James:  
_Huh  
You know what? You’re real caring, Sam Wilson. Love that about you _

Sam:  
_:)_

 

\--

 

“You know, I’m really concerned about your lack of care for this,” Natasha told Sam.

Natasha was a fellow clinician who had worked alongside Sam only for a few months. Despite identical professions they’d initially met through Steve because that’s how all of Sam’s relationships worked apparently. Steve gave him referrals and he worked from there.

With a stern exterior and unmatched diligence, Natasha exposed a softness and vulnerability only to people she trusted dearly. Sam could trust her with his feelings and she never disappointed.

Sam was startled out his thoughts by the ding of the microwave. Natasha left her seat to retrieve a bowl of something steaming. She looked at him sympathetically.

“Sorry about that.”

“Huh? Oh don’t be. You were in the middle of lecturing me on something?”

Sam sipped his coffee. It was after hours. Natasha was waiting for Clint to pick her up and Sam had to sit in on a meeting with a youth advisory committee in an hour.

“Oh yeah,” Natasha said after she’d finished sipping a hot broth. The scent reminded Sam of a day-in on a wet afternoon. “Steve’s birthday.”

“Yeah. He has one every year.”

Natasha kicked him under the table. “We have to plan it. We can’t do it at my place again. Clint’s painting and it’s—ugh. It’s a mess. Our couch is in the guest bedroom and our coffee table is on top of the dinner table. Clint says he has a plan. I don’t think he does. You know how he is. He’s spontaneous and does stuff just to see what happens. The colour scheme he has in mind is nice though. I’ll give him that.”

“Ok. Got it. Your place is a mess. Second option?”

Natasha just stared at him.

“Nuh uh. Can’t use my place, Nat. You know that. I’ve got a studio apartment that isn’t party-friendly. It can barely fit one person and that person’s me,” Sam said.

“Well James is yet to offer his place. I asked. But I also think he might live the furthest from everyone. But even then, I don’t think James would offer,”  she said.

“Bucky,” Sam corrected.

“Hm? Yeah. James.”

“Well. He prefers Bucky.”

“Okay? Whatever. I guess it’s safe to say that no one wants to propose Stark’s place as a possible party venue.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on.” Natasha placed her hand on top of his, something she did if she really wanted something. “Stark kinda owes you. The stuff you’re doing for him right now is dangerous. Call it workers comp. And I bet if we put up a really good argument he’ll let us into his liquor cabinet.”

“I can’t claim compensation if I haven’t been hurt yet. Plus: Steve’s a simple guy. I don’t think he’d want something too extravagant. He hates everything about Stark’s lifestyle,” Sam reasoned.

“Okay good point. There’s…There’s one other person. And I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. Better now than leaving it till later. It’s about Steve’s love life. Do you want me to keep going?” Natasha said. She kept her hand on his.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah? We’re not dating anymore. Haven’t been for a while now, Nat. Your boy’s found somebody? Cool. That’s awesome. I’m happy for him.”

“So you knew?”

“No. I’m just…assuming that’s what this is about?”

“Yeah. She’s nice. Blonde. Her name’s Sharon. She works for the government. Can kick major ass apparently.”

Sam laughed. “Please tell me that’s how they met. Steve said something stupid and she literally kneed him in the stomach and did that leg-wrap-around thing chicks do in movies.”

“He spared the details. That probably means it was embarrassing. So yeah. She offered her place,” Natasha said.

“If she doesn’t live too far then that’s cool by me,” Sam said.

“She lives somewhere in the city. Real nice place apparently. Not Stark-nice. But nice. I’ll confirm the details with her later.”

Sam nodded. When Natasha’s phone beeped, she stood, and Sam assumed Clint had arrived. She left her soup for Sam to finish.

 

\--

 

James:  
_How do we live an hour away from each other but haven’t met up yet  
Do you know how long it’s been, Sam? _

Sam:  
_Yes. Almost 9 months_

James:  
_That’s how long women carry BABIES, Sam_

Sam:  
_Glad u know that_  
_Adulthood’s hard buddy_  
_No time to do ANYTHING_

James:  
_You better be coming to Steve’s birthday bash_

Sam:  
_obvs_

James:  
_:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD_

 

 

\--

 

Sam was yet to tell someone about the feelings brewing inside him for Bucky. Relationship talk with Steve felt like forbidden territory bordered with landmines that would set off hurt feelings and resentment. It was a stretch, but not a ridiculous thought. There were very much bombs waiting to go off regarding their failed relationship, stuff they never breached that could be easily triggered by a set of poor word choices and phrases. Sam could feel that in the indefinitely tainted aura that haunted their friendship. He could feel it in the way he and Steve avoided being alone together. He could feel it in the way Steve hadn’t brought up Sharon yet.

Sam wasn’t wounded by that progression. He hadn’t met Sharon yet, but he’d found her on Facebook through Natasha. She had a natural beauty to her, a kind that shone even in pictures. She was simplistic as she was easily out of many people’s leagues. Sam was also certain she was intellectually compatible with Steve based on the ratio of political status updates to regular ones about her life. Sam was proud to not be damaged by any of these realisations, all of which he had on a Thursday night.

The air was stale in his studio apartment, as if an invisible thick gas was collecting. Although Sam wore only a tank top and boxer-briefs, the heat overcame him enough to make him breathless. Outside it reeked of the stench that preceded heavy rainfall, and when the rain finally unleashed upon the city looking like tiny spears when illuminated under the street lights, Sam was not taken aback. His back had ached the whole day so unbearably that he’d had to cancel an appointment. Every cancelled appointment filled him with an irrefutable guilt, knowing he’d let someone down, and that guilt pervaded him even when he’d gotten a replacement.

His joint pain served as a caveat to rain with a justified medical explanation that Sam could never recall off the top of his head. To endure a storm after a day of physical aches was always an absurd relief, as it meant that the pain hadn’t come as an alarming happenstance that Sam needed to go to a doctor for, but rather a product of his body reacting to the way of the world.

He laid in bed with the TV muted. He was happy to view silent images to pass the time as he nursed himself to recovery. He sought to make himself coffee as a means to keep himself busy, but after he’d swung his legs over the bed his phone sounded.

Bucky had sent him a message.

James:  
_Who’s ‘Sharon Carter’ and why is she hosting Steve’s birthday party_

Sam decided the coffee was useless.

Sam:  
_She’s Steve’s new girlfriend_  
_also she is not hosting the party Natasha is_  
_sharon just kindly offered her home_

James:  
_Oh ok_

Sam:  
_Did u really not know about Sharon??_

James:  
_No. But I’m happy for Steve! Can I search her up on this thing?_

Sam:  
_Shes on private. I saw her page through Natasha’s account  
Nothing incriminating _

James:  
_Oh thank GOD!_  
_Here I was worrying about Steve getting into trouble with this MYSTERY blonde._  
_Thank you for putting my anxiety at ease, Samuel_

Sam rolled his eyes. He also found it odd that Steve had apparently not informed Bucky about Sharon either.

James:  
_What are you doing right now?_

Sam:  
_Talking to u unfortunately_

James:  
_I wish I could come over._

Thunder cracked outside and the rain strengthened, sounding like shrapnel pelting at his window.

James:  
_FUCK_  
_Oh fuck I hate thunder_  
_So goddamn much_

Sam:  
_Put earphones on! Blast some smoooooth jazz. Helps put me at ease_

James:  
_More of a ‘rainforest sounds’ kind of guy_

Sam:  
_Tell me your joking_

James:  
_Duh! Jeez I’m really not as uncool as I sound in virtual speak  
I listen to Pearl Jam _

Sam:  
_HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH_  
_sorry_  
_It’s just_  
_I find it so charming when old people try to connect with the YOUTH_  
_Its cringy but cute_

Thunder continued to roar, the world outside playing on like an angry orchestra.

It was dark save for the glow of the television. When Bucky hadn’t responded for a while Sam hugged the pillow to his chest, wishing hard that wherever Bucky was maybe he could feel the spiritual sensation of Sam reaching out to him and wanting to hold him.

Sam:  
_how u doing?_

James:  
_Not sure. Bit jumpy._  
_Think I’ll be okay._  
_I’ve survived through every other rainy night._  
_A lot worse than this too_  
_Ok I found a jazz playlist thing on youtube_  
_:)_

Sam regarded the smiley face as a sign to progress no further. He hugged the pillow again and when the thunder shook the world the hardest it had all night, Sam winced on Bucky’s behalf, hugging the pillow tighter. He hated that there was nothing he could do except hope Bucky knew he wasn’t alone.   

Sam had been a social worker for two years now. He knew where he was needed and when it was required of him to stay behind a line. In his personal life these lines tended to blur and reappear with intense clarity at different points, ever-changing, and constantly being drawn and redrawn. With friends there was an established degree of trust and access. There was flexibility. There were unspoken rules and silent understandings about one another, but there was no professionalism involved. There wasn’t a handbook that told Sam specifically when and how to broach a topic. In a sense, it was trickier. Not that stranger’s lives and feelings meant nothing to him, but there was more to lose here. Losing what he’d already lost with Steve was a harsh blow. Now, there was the thought of losing something with Bucky that truthfully he hadn’t even gained yet.

Bucky didn’t speak further and as per usual, Sam didn’t ask him to.

 

\--

 

Steve’s birthday celebration fell on the third on account of the fact that Steve had an appointment on the fourth. Natasha had lamented this, quite bitterly so, wording it in such a way that put an unnecessary amount of blame on Steve for ‘ruining everything.’ Sam had calmed her down by reminding her that it wasn’t in Steve’s control that he happened to have an appointment on the fourth, no matter how much it didn’t make sense to Natasha.

“Sharon’s not available on the fourth either. I’m suspicious,” Natasha said as they walked up the stairs to Sharon’s apartment.

“Well excuse them for putting up a front just so they could spend time together,” Sam said.

“They’ve only been together for like a month.”

“A lot can happen in a month.”

Sam hadn’t expected to be as blown away by the sight of the infamous Sharon Carter up close. He was enamoured by how her effortless radiance and dewiness of her skin were in harmony with the simplicity of her stylistic choices. She wore a plain summer dress that fell just below her knees that was embellished with a thin belt that allowed it to flare outwards at the hips. 

Sharon hugged them both. Her scent was sweet and brought to Sam’s mind the tang of berries. Sharon pouted over Clint’s absence, to which Natasha with the tone of an irritable wife acquainted with disappointment offered the excuse that he’d been preoccupied with house work.

When inside, Sam went to join Steve on the couch while Natasha and Sharon congregated in the kitchen.

“What’s this about an appointment tomorrow that ruined Natasha’s original plans?” Sam asked.

Steve shrugged. “Really last minute thing. No big deal. Wasn’t expecting it myself.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Super.”

Sharon arrived and put a platter of hot chips and dip on the coffee table.

“I was so happy to do this on the fourth. But life gets in the way. I thought maybe it would be more peaceful too though. I’m really close to the fireworks here. I’m not…sure how you guys deal with that type of thing?” Sharon said to Sam.

“It’s not like we boycott the fourth of July every year. It’s more the ‘element of surprise’ of the fireworks than the actual fireworks themselves. We just wanna know when they’re coming,” Sam explained.

Sharon nodded, then ducked away into the kitchen.

Tight shirts had never been a thing for Sam. At least that was the truth until Bucky had arrived in one and Sam had to restrain himself from letting his gaze linger for too long.

The fact that the couch had already been occupied by Sam, Steve and Sharon did not deter Bucky from successfully squeezing in beside Sam.

“Sam,” Bucky said fondly and pressed his cheek against his. “It’s been so long.”

Sam, oddly enough, wanted to sob. It was true that seeing Bucky after so long felt like waiting on a loved one to come back from war. Bucky regarded his own affections as purely platonic, although he also seemed to have a loose grasp of the parameters of regular friendships.

“Missed you too, buddy,” Sam said, already weighed down by the acute awareness of his feelings for Bucky, which transcended simply missing him. He wanted him this close all the time.

They sat with their thighs touching the whole time. Bucky, once completely settled, indulged in his latest fashion of idly and subconsciously touching Sam. Sam did nothing to stop it on account of the sheer selfish reason that he didn’t want it to stop. He revelled in the secrecy of the touches and pretended as if they were a couple that had been called out for public displays of affection in the past.

Deep into the night they’d found themselves alone on Sharon’s balcony. They stayed away from the railing, leant back against the glass door.

“Is the view where you are like this?” Bucky asked.

Sam shook his head. Bucky was slightly buzzed, but Sam hadn’t drunk all night for the sole sentimental purpose of wanting to remember every way Bucky had slightly touched him.

“Just a street and the opposite building. Nothing this nice. Won’t make you feel on top of the world,” Sam said.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re looking at the same thing. Like if I see a star, can Sam Wilson see it too?” Bucky said.

Sam laughed. “No. There are no stars here, Bucky. Pollution. Also, that’s a really deep thought.”

“If I look straight down from my window, I have a great view of the dumpsters,” Bucky said.

“I’m not sure what to do with this information,” Sam said.

Bucky shrugged. “Keep it close to your heart. When you walk past the dumpster think of me.”

“Already do.”

Bucky elbowed him. “Wish I could feel the way I do at home everywhere else. Actually scratch that. Sometimes I’ll feel down at home too.”

With every glimpse at sorrow into Bucky’s life that Sam had, his heart constricted and he became inundated with the need to be of assistance. But he knew that more often than not people didn’t want to feel like they needed to be helped. For Bucky, Sam wanted to battle his demons for him, but Sam couldn’t do that. Not even to himself, who had his own battles. This was one of them: figuring out what he and Bucky were, where it could go, if it could go anywhere, having to deal with the fact that this was what being in love was like and no one had warned him that it was a lot like being lost and alone in a place on the opposite side of happiness, close enough to see it with clarity but too far to grasp it.

Unsure of what to say, Sam rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He took note of the way his touch made Bucky tense then relax all in a second. He felt Bucky’s fingers brush up against his.

This was all Sam needed for now. From this high he felt like he could take the moon into his hands. He imagined giving that to Bucky, the moon, everything, and Bucky taking it into his hands and making sure to never drop it. Sam could do this. He could have this moment and nothing more.

Except he couldn’t.

 

\--

 

“This is very strange,” Bucky said. His face was slightly blurred and his voice was scratchy.

“Sometimes I really do think you’re ninety years old but you took care of yourself so well and ate all the right foods that your body and face don’t show it,” Sam said, adjusting himself from where he sat on his bed.

“I want to reach through the screen and touch your face. But technology isn’t _that_ good yet,” Bucky said.

“Pitch that to Tony Stark. Maybe he could make it happen,” Sam said.

“He’s still trying to make my metal arm and make people fly happen. I think he’s too busy for this one. Hey, what are you even wearing?” Bucky asked.

Sam blushed. “Me? I’m—nothing. I mean! Something. I’m wearing like a shirt,” Sam said.

“That’s a full blown sweater. It’s only September.”

Bucky’s face was clear now. His hair was past his ears and just grazed his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing a shirt but had a blanket wrapped around himself. Sam absorbed the tiny details of Bucky’s home visible to him; the brick wall and the corner of a makeshift bookshelf balanced on cinderblocks. He seemed to be on the floor.

“Where’s your bed?” Sam asked.

“I’m on it. I’ve got a futon. Shut up,” Bucky said.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything! I love futons.”

“They’re better than regular beds.”

“Sure, Bucky. Whatever you say.”

“When are you gonna fly?”

Sam shrugged. “They’ve got the prototype done. They’ve been meaning to get one of us to test it out. I’m coming in Saturday morning.”

“Are you going to test it out then?” Bucky asked.

Again, Sam shrugged.

“Are you scared?” Bucky asked.

“No,” Sam said.

He wasn’t lying. The thought of flying hadn’t daunted him so far and he didn’t anticipate that it would. He was in safe hands, even though they were Tony Stark’s.

But he _was_ scared. In general and of a lot of things. Of life, really. But mostly he was scared of Bucky Barnes, of losing him, of keeping him and of staying in this crack of reality where everything was stagnant.

This was like flying. Worse, actually. Sam was dangling in the sky while some invisible force held onto him. And he was waiting for it to let go.

 

\--

 

On Saturday morning, Sam flew.

He gave his phone to Riley to have the event recorded. He flew for about seven seconds, above six feet in the air, until the prototype malfunctioned and sent him flying horizontally. Sam shifted so his back could hit the wall and the prototype cushioned his impact.

The prototype was damaged but Sam Wilson was not.

That night Sam shared the video on Facebook, cutting out the part where everything went wrong, and Bucky was the first to like, first to comment and initiated a Skype call with Sam immediately.

“That was cool! So cool!” Bucky exclaimed.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Um. Funny story actually.”

Sam told Bucky what had happened. Sam was thankful that Bucky found it hilarious.

“What’s the story with your arm? I thought it all would’ve been done by now,” Sam asked.

“Well you see, I lost my arm in the war—“

“No, idiot,” Sam said fondly. “Your Stark arm.”

“Don’t call it that,” Bucky said. “It’s _my_ arm. Tony Stark is making it, but it’s _mine_. It’s got my name on it and everything. Well, no it doesn’t. But yeah. They gave a guy legs the other day! Totally forgot to tell you that. And, like, he’s fine.”

“He’s fine?”

“More than fine. When the surgery was finished he started crying and hugged Tony for ten minutes. He’s still doing physio but he’s, like, so fine.”

Sam raised a brow. “Are you fine?”

“I don’t have a metal arm yet,” Bucky responded.

“Not the answer to my question.”

“So I’ve been delaying things. So what? Who doesn’t? I’m a little scared.”

“Understandable.”

“And that’s all I’m saying about me. You’re not my shrink. Even if you might be someone else’s shrink, you’re not mine.”

“You’re right,” Sam said. “I’m not yours.”

They paused. Bucky was so still that Sam clicked around the screen under the assumption that the screen had frozen. Then Bucky blinked.

“My surgery’s actually next month. I was…hoping you would be free. It’s gonna be relatively short actually. Maybe an hour or two tops. You can bring someone, Steve or whatever. Or all of them. It’d be nice to have people there.” Bucky had looked everywhere around his room but at the screen as he’d said this.

“Of course, Bucky. I’ll be there.”

Sam had a hard time breathing through the rest of their conversation even if they didn’t broach any hard topic after that. It was early morning when they finished and the image of Bucky’s face left him too quickly.

Sam rolled onto his side and regained composure. His eyes were full but hadn’t spilled. He was so overwhelmed by how unfair everything was. How unfair it was that he wasn’t Bucky’s, how unfair it was that Bucky didn’t understand how he made him feel, how unfair it was that it felt like having his chest sliced open when Bucky mentioned his own sadness, how unfair it was that Sam couldn’t be there for him even as a friend.

It just wasn’t fair.

Sam had been single his whole life aside from too many short, failed attempts to seek a kind of happiness that seemed to purposely evade him.

He never did cry that night. He fell asleep feeling bottomless sorrow and when he woke the next morning it was still cutting through to his core.

 

\--

 

Clint was the first to become restless only twenty minutes into the surgery.

“How long did you say this was?” Clint asked. 

"Maybe two hours,” Sam responded.

The surgery took place somewhere in Stark Tower. Sam, Steve, Sharon, Clint and Natasha were provided the special opportunity to wait in Tony’s living room. Tony had the facilities to conduct a surgery, which was both believable and unbelievable.

Everyone shared an uncertainty surrounding what to do as they waited. Tony had given them permission to use his kitchen and raid his fridge, but they all stayed confined to his couch arranged in a square formation making little attempt to keep themselves occupied.

Sam had to constantly resist the urge to message Bucky, reminding himself that Bucky wouldn’t respond because he was unconscious somewhere a few floors down getting a metal arm permanently attached to his body.

They hadn’t spoken the night before. Sam had resisted the urge to contact Bucky then too, because Sam was sure Bucky had a particular way to prepare for certain situations that included no distractions from the outside world. He’d also fretted over _that_ because maybe Bucky _did_ want Sam to call.

That morning Sam had anguished over that particular scenario and wondered if Bucky hadn’t woken up in the right mindset because Sam failed to stick to that unwritten script they’d both been interpreting for the past year.

 _God_. He’d known Bucky a whole year and it was still like this.

“Sam?”

Sam responded to Natasha’s voice and looked up from his phone, where he had subconsciously navigated his way to Bucky’s Facebook page, stuck on a candid photo of him laughing.

“You feeling alright? I can get you some water,” she said.

“I’m good.”

It was a blatant lie and Natasha knew it. She got up to grab him some water.

“I don’t have to be here,” Clint had been complaining when Natasha returned with the water.

“Yes you do,” she said, patting Clint’s thigh.

“No I don’t. I don’t know the guy, Nat! I’ve never met him in my life,” Clint argued.

“You do know him. You’ve met him. Four times.” Natasha looked at Sam. “James is gonna be fine.”

Sam groaned while he rubbed his forehead. Quietly, he said, “It’s Bucky.”

Natasha never heard him.

Forty-five minutes in, Clint had taken up an entire couch. He made attempts to nap while Steve paced around the couch. Natasha filtered through the reading material Tony had lying around. Sharon looked uneasy as she sat on the couch. She had napped intermittently, which earned Steve a few concerned glances, who reassured everyone that Sharon was fine. Sam finally stood to make coffee to keep himself occupied and his brain working. He even tidied Tony’s kitchen out of the goodness of his own heart while he waited for the coffee to brew.

Like the shoe that no one knew they’d been waiting to drop, Sharon threw up on Tony Stark’s unequivocally expensive coach and pristine floor.

The occurrence was enough to startle Clint out of his slumber. Steve and Natasha helped Sharon stand and they sought to get her to a bathroom, which they couldn’t find. Steve had managed to contact Pepper Potts, explain the situation, and a minute later two assistants took control of the situation.

“Let me go with her,” Steve argued as they led Sharon away.

They took Steve away too, which left Clint, Natasha, Sam and the vomit.

“Man that _reeks._ What did she have for breakfast?” Clint said as he averted his gaze from the mess. “Kinda smells like citrus too.”

“You boys are _not_ leaving me to clean this mess,” Natasha said as she acquired paper towels.

“We’re not,” Clint said. “We’re leaving Tony Stark and his assistants to clean this mess. It’s his home.” 

Clint stood aside while Sam helped Natasha. 

“I guess it’s time for me to spill the beans,” Natasha said quietly.

“I know what morning sickness and Steve’s overprotection is an indication of,” Sam said.

She stopped. “You knew?”

Sam sighed. “Nat, I really wish you’d give me credit for my ability to read situations. And now that I think about it, she seemed a bit, uh, chubbier in the face. How long have _you_ known?”

“She told me first,” Natasha explained.

“I didn’t know you guys were such close friends.”

“We’re not. I’m closer to Steve. I guess she told me first because of that. Like maybe I’d be able to calm Steve down about it. I didn’t by the way. He’s still a huge mess.”

Natasha had told Sam the whole story by the time they removed all evidence that anyone had hurled. Sharon and Steve’s one night stand had unintentionally turned into dating. Amidst all that there was the appointment on the fourth of July and here they were. Sam didn’t offer any opinions on the situation as he didn’t have any and felt it was not his place to comment.

The whole thing had provoked Sam to contemplate the fact that he was constantly surrounded by drama, most of which had nothing to do with him. The drama in his own life was purely created by him and him alone. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault that Sam had to fall in love with him. Sam’s only problem was having to stumble along that infinite path of unrequited love with absolutely no end, but it consumed every fibre of his being. That, too, he had only him and him alone to endure it with. At least Steve and Sharon’s issues could be dealt with together. They were a solid unit. Sam didn’t have to ask Steve about that to know it. Steve had a magic luck surrounding his relationships. Everything would be fine in the end. Even with him and Sam, they were fine. Sam, individually, was not. But objectively it was all fine.

“Sam, you’ve _got_ to tell me about this thing you have with Barnes,” Natasha said to him as they washed their hands together.

“I was waiting for you to bother me about that,” Sam said.

He’d been meaning to talk to someone about it for a while and now that the opportunity presented itself, he was unsure of how to proceed. Natasha allowed him his space. The way he could present this to her was completely in his hands. He could leave out details, lie, hyperbolise and downplay. The benefit of having full autonomy over speaking about a single issue was that he determined how to proceed, but at that moment the burden was a steaming ball that he rapidly tossed between his hands and rather than discuss it, he wanted to launch it out the window and let it crash into the street below.

Eventually, Sam told her everything unhinged, thoughtlessly and truthfully. He owed himself that. He allowed himself to hand over his burden to someone else in the form of knowledge so that the next time he anguished over it he wasn’t alone. Natasha was good for that. She listened and nodded to reassure him that she was still listening. She let him speak without interruption. He told her about how in love with Bucky Barnes he was, about how he wanted to give him the moon on that night before the fourth of July, about how every time it rained heavily all he desired was to hold Bucky and, finally, about how much it tore him apart to be stuck in this junction where he was so close yet so far from what he wanted.

She smiled at him at the end and rubbed his shoulder.

“I’m glad you told me all of that. I’m sorry there’s nothing I could do for you at the moment. But I’m here for you, Sam.”

It was true there was nothing she could do. He didn’t expect her to do anything but be there for him. For her presence he was eternally grateful.

Sam didn’t see Steve again until it was well into the afternoon. That was when the nurses had informed them that the waiting was over. Sam had stood up so fast he got dizzy. Natasha had to hold onto him while they were led to Bucky. Steve was already there and it made Sam’s blood boil. He’d wanted to be the first to see Bucky, but his anger dissipated when he reached Steve’s side.

“Looks like life literally got in the way huh? Is Sharon okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. She had to go home. But she’s fine,” Steve said.

Sam squeezed Steve’s shoulder.

The way Steve averted Sam’s eyes was reminiscent of the point in their relationship when just the sight of each other was enough to incite conflict. Sam allowed himself to be wounded by that only because he knew that the sight of Bucky would quickly override every single thing that preceded that moment.

He saw Bucky first through a window. Bucky’s hair was tied back with those usual strands falling over his face the way Sam memorised it. Just through an observation of his body language, Sam could tell that he was lethargic like he’d just been discharged from a day of fighting. He supposed that was what he could call it.

When Sam finally did enter the room, he felt as if he stepped into another dimension or poked his foot into the world of an artwork. That was what inching his way into Bucky’s life felt every time. His colours undid the rough strokes at the edges. Each day, little by little, Sam carved out a new image with each scant distance and he would continue to do so until they met in the centre somewhere where their colours could blend.

The light that reflected upon it gave it a bold introduction; Bucky’s arm, folded in his lap. Lines sliced throughout the metal appendage all the way from where it was attached at Bucky’s shoulder through to the fingertips. There was an inorganic sense of life about it, as if it could be awakened with a mind of its own.

Sam fought hard not to behave like a spouse upon seeing their partner return from war. That wasn’t what he was, but this was a war; a special kind of one-sided war that he had to relentlessly ignore in order to get on with his day. It devoured him from the inside. To see Bucky now and force himself not to fall into his arms was a skirmish all on its own.

Bucky gave Sam a worn down smile, one that barely tugged at the corners of his lips. With all the strength Bucky could muster, he dedicated it to give Sam a smile that Sam would never forget.

He compromised his earlier thoughts to fall into Bucky’s arms. He realised that he wouldn’t forgive himself in the future for not having done so. Sam allowed himself one good thing each day and this, Bucky’s right arm and the new edition sliding from Sam’s hips to locking around his back, was enough to sustain Sam for the rest of his life. The tightness with which Bucky held onto him transferred to Sam a sense of security only Bucky could offer. They were two dull sparks whose full brightness could only be achieved when with each other. Although Sam had his eyes closed, he knew that they together at that moment emitted a spiritual glow that could contend against the sun itself. 

With every good thing was the inevitable misery of brevity. Time dictated that they had to let go, which they did, and afterwards Sam watched with irrational envy as Bucky offered a similar if not watered down version of the physical contact they’d just shared.

It was Bucky’s moment, Sam reminded himself. This was a momentous point in Bucky’s life that Sam was a mere participant in. He suppressed his feelings and gave that moment back to Bucky.

Tony Stark appeared in the room to congratulate everyone on their efforts. Sam offered his phone to take a photo, promising Bucky he would send it. It was just one photo with everyone present. He didn’t know how to ask for the photo he really wanted, which was just he and Bucky. When he finally mustered enough courage to ask for the shot, it was time to go, and Sam acknowledged that he had enough good things for one day. He put his phone away.

Bucky was required to reside in Stark Tower for a while to be monitored. As always, leaving Bucky on one corner of the world to return to Sam’s own corner felt like having his heart squashed by a mighty hammer.

Back in the street, Sam felt overexposed. He wanted to retreat back into that bubble of warmth he only had with Bucky. Natasha and Clint bid their farewells. Sam was left with Steve.

“I kind of want to go for a walk,” Sam said.

“Me too,” Steve said.

They walked slowly, which hindered the journey of many frantic city dwellers. It was the first time that they’d been alone together since the fallout and the subsequent epoch of mutual resentment, but neither mentioned it. Sam felt it was time to close a distance that was long overdue to be quelled.

“What went wrong between us?” he asked.

Steve laughed. He buried his face in his hands. “Oh god. Are we finally going to do this?”

“Maybe it’s time we be adults about it,” Sam reasoned.

“Ignoring problems and tension is a very adult thing to do, Sam. Adults like to pretend we’re all about resolving conflict with diplomacy. But deep down we all know it’s not like that. Let’s be the first to admit it out loud,” Steve said.

“So you want it to be like this between us forever? Steve, you’re going to have a baby. I’m in love with your childhood best friend. The thing we had is buried so far below the ground that it shouldn’t even be relevant anymore.”

Steve laughed again. The brightness that filled his eyes and the redness in his cheeks was so infectious that Sam couldn’t help but grin too.

“God! I knew it! Sam, I freaking knew you had a thing for Bucky. When Natasha first told me I was sceptical. But then it made so much sense. You were like his wife in there!”

“Was not!”

“You were to!” Steve cackled. “God. This is so good. Life is so good right now.”

Sam bumped his shoulder against Steve’s. “No it’s not. You know that’s such shit, Rogers.”

“I know. But this…” Steve put his arm around Sam. “This is good. You’re right. We can be _proper_ adults about this. In fact. We don’t need to be. Nothing’s…Nothing’s changed right? We’re good?”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, man. We’re so good.”

 

\--

 

Tony Stark finally publicised his metal prosthetic limb venture a month later. Bucky was offered the opportunity to speak on camera about it but refused, having clarified to Sam that ‘ _the only camera I’m speaking in front of is this one to you on Skype_.’

“I’m flattered,” Sam said. “God, Bucky. Can you put a shirt on? Please. Winter’s coming earlier than we thought.”

Bucky grinned and flexed his metal arm. “You don’t like this?”

The heat spread from Sam’s cheeks down to his neck. God, he _did_ like that. But Bucky didn’t need him taking this seriously. So long as it was all a joke to Bucky, it was all a joke to Sam too. 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that,” Sam said. “Can I tell you something you’re gonna love even more though, Barnes?”

“Please do.”

“I flew ten minutes today. My head hit the ceiling. That hurt. But I flew.”

Bucky grinned again. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding.”

“That’s amazing! I wish I could see it. I really do. It’s…flying is cool,” Bucky said.

“So you’ve told me. A hundred thousand times. I’m very aware of your interest in flying.”

Sam paused.

“Uh oh. There something you need to tell me, Wilson?” Bucky asked.

“Not really. I mean. Sort of. Have you heard the latest in the Steve and Sharon fiasco?”

“Uh huh. They’re having a baby,” Bucky said.

“No. It’s escalated,” Sam said. “They wanna get married.”

Bucky laughed. “Of course they do. Steve’s a good little Catholic boy. He’s not gonna have a bastard kid.”

“Be happy for them!”

“I am!”

“Are they going to have a real wedding? Or just get some papers signed?” Bucky asked.

Sam shrugged. “I think Sharon wants a real thing. She’s real traditional like that. I think Steve wants to get it over and done with.”

“I don’t think so. Steve’s a huge wedding guy,” Bucky argued.

“Yeah. But he’s also mindful of circumstances. He’d willingly sacrifice luxuries and privileges for the sake of timing.”

Sam ended up being right. Sam and Sharon had forgone a proper ceremony with Clint and Natasha as witnesses. Sharon had worn a pantsuit.

“There’s love there,” Natasha had told Sam a few days after without much conviction. Sam had hoped it was true.

Sam had spent the weekend of Steve and Sharon’s marriage mourning over a missed opportunity. He appropriated the moment that he wasn’t present for fuelling the narrative he had in his mind with Bucky. He imagined a church with high ceilings; an imaginary structure in the middle of a big open field because Sam had always yearned to escape the confines of the city. It became less about the wedding and more about how Sam wanted Bucky to be the one to take him away to a faraway place. In this newer version of the daydream, they danced in the centre of the open field with grass long enough to scratch their knuckles and the sun an organic spotlight on them as their bodies and souls intertwined. In this daydream, Bucky loved Sam with all the passion in the world, he’d kiss him with ferocious necessity and he’d dip him in his arms.

No one needed to know if Sam found himself aroused just by the thought of being loved. He reached into his pants.

The scene in the field would cut to a vision of them having sex so rough that it contradicted all the gentleness that preceded it. In their hypothetical sex life Bucky would take charge and claim Sam loudly and proudly. Bucky would fuck Sam from behind hard enough for Sam to think that he would sink right to the floor. Then the gentle love would take over once more when they were finished. Bucky would hold him close with no intention of letting go.

In reality, Sam came after mindlessly touching himself to the fantasy. Afterwards the endless field and the bed in which they fucked in melted away and reality came back like a brutal assault. The whir of the cheap heater was like an obscure applause to Sam’s triumphant finish. He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms and legs out. The cracks in the ceiling were a disenchanting constellation. The longer he stared at it the more the thoughts in his mind looped around in knots. All of it—his breathing, the dullness of the walls, the rumbling heater, the heat, the smell of dust—it all ensnared Sam in a coffin.

He sat up and drank two whole glasses of water.

To think that this was his life; everything and nothing happening all at once.

That’s all Sam could think about as he reflected upon everything that had happened. He gave himself an exercise to counter the perpetual disappointment of reality. He’d flown many times at this point. He dedicated his life to caring for others and was good at it. He had a tight knit group of friends who would do as much for him as he for them. He’d never been struck by a car or by lightning. He was here. Breathing. To continue existing after all he’d been through was the most important victory anyone could achieve and there he was: doing it, breathing.

That was more important than Bucky Barnes. His persistence to fight back everything that tried to keep him down was more important than the fact that Bucky Barnes didn’t love him back.

The overwhelming truth was an added blanket of protection that night when he went to sleep.

 

\--

 

“James wants to try hanging out,” Natasha told him as they endured their usual routine; Sam awaiting his meeting and Natasha awaiting the arrival of her husband.

“I didn’t know you and Bucky hung out,” Sam said.

“I’m assuming he meant with _you_ ,” Natasha clarified. “I don’t mean to get your hopes up, but James and I don’t hang out. We never did. But he mentioned in passing to Steve that he, quote, yearned for a night on the town. Steve is too busy to be hanging out at night like a single fella and I’m pretty sure James doesn’t care to experience what a night out is like with me. That leaves—“

“Clint,” Sam said.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “No. _You_ , idiot. And god, what makes you think James and Clint would get along at all. Clint is constantly trying to convince me he’s never even met him. Can you please indulge your boy, Sam?”

“He’s _not_ my boy, Nat. Don’t do that to me,” Sam said. He’d been fine for the past few weeks in terms of maintaining his feelings for Bucky. He could get through Skype calls now without having his chest hurt.

She frowned. “Sorry. But I think it’d be good for him. It’s important for him to have routine, something distracting. He doesn’t go out much. Except when he talks to his therapist. He needs, you know, more things to do with his life.” 

“He’s fine. Don’t do that to him either,” Sam said defensively.

Natasha sighed agitatedly. “I’m not—stop accusing me of _doing_ things to people. I’m not asking you to do this because I worry about his wellbeing. I mean I do. But also because I think if you don’t see him again face to face you’ll spontaneously combust or something. And screw you, Sam. Don’t pretend like you don’t worry about him. You probably do it worse than I do. It’s fine to help people here and there even when those people think they’re just fine. Especially then probably.”

They were quiet after that.

 

\--

 

It wasn’t dates. Sam didn’t break his own heart by calling it that.

Bucky was elated at the thought of seeing Sam on an almost daily basis. They planned it based on Sam’s schedule, who was out from the morning to the late afternoon from Monday to Friday every week. Sam braced the cold just to be with Bucky. They eschewed a destination to ensure that their walks were driven by freedom. The thoughtlessness of it all was the enchanting part. Their nights together on the street were spent cloistered by manmade structures. The artificial and brief heat and luminosity of the streetlamps brought to life the specks of dust in the air. It was a unique sense of life, one that made Sam reminisce of his first time seeing Bucky’s metal arm. It was a pocket of the world that Sam got to share with Bucky, who was a unique specimen in his own way. He inhaled and exhaled life like no other person could.

Sam liked to pretend that Bucky romanticised their nightly walks too. He wanted to know if Bucky saw a kind of heroism in what they did, especially when the snow started to fall. He wanted to know if he felt strong every time they braced the cold together, often the only people wandering the streets when the snow fell in earnest. The colder it got, the closer they walked together. The distances fell, but they slowed their pace to make up for it.

“It’s too cold,” Bucky said one night.

“S’not the coldest it’s been,” Sam said, although still it was cold enough to agitate him.

“Well. Maybe you don’t wanna walk home today,” Bucky suggested.

“You gonna let me speak for myself on this one?”

“Maybe you’d wanna go inside. It’s about time I showed you I do have a home,” Bucky said.

Sam lifted his gaze to the building before them. This was often where they parted ways, the point in which Sam would depart from that bubble with Bucky where he felt most safe, most secure; the only place he wanted to be. As he scrutinised the building, an excitement built up inside him at the thought that somewhere within that building was the home of James Barnes, and James Barnes himself wanted Sam to discover it.

“Nah, Bucky. I just assumed that each time we Skyped each other you were just in some upper-class alleyway.”

Bucky smiled that smile that Sam now designated as his favourite one; bottom lip closed over the top one, mouth stretching into thin lines. It was a smile that was as emotive as it was subdued.

Bucky stepped aside and extended an arm towards the doorway that sat atop three steps. “After you.”

“You have to open the door though,” Sam said.

“Ah. Right.”

Bucky took the lead.

Sam was thankful for the heat that enveloped them when the doors shut out the cold. Sam looked around the interior of the building with a childish awe as he tried to figure out which door would be Bucky’s.

Bucky’s apartment was on the seventh floor. Bucky unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped aside.

“Okay. _Now_ after you,” he said.

Sam walked until he was in the centre of the room. After a moment the door clicked shut behind him and the lights flicked on. Bucky lingered by the doorway. The first thing Sam’s eyes dwelled on were the windows, which were covered in newspapers.

“I don’t have curtains,” Bucky said. “I…tore them off in an embarrassing fit of rage once. But I’m not like that now. I don’t do that anymore.”

“I love it,” Sam said sincerely.

He saw his futon in person. He saw the infamous makeshift bookshelf in person. He slid his finger over the top of it as he walked past and glanced at the dust that gathered on his fingertip.

Bucky’s kitchen was tidy; utensils tucked away, sink empty. The window in the kitchen had curtains, floral patterned, which were drawn.

Sam turned around to see Bucky standing in the centre of the room. He still had his hat on that made his hair fall down in such a way that framed his face nicely. He wore too many layers that made his chest look bigger than it already was. Bucky didn’t own a winter coat. Sam often worried over this as winter slowly and surely took over the city.

“I love it,” Sam said. He didn’t feel the need to embellish his thoughts. It was the truth right there. He loved Bucky’s home; the place Bucky took care of himself, the place Bucky probably felt most himself. And here Sam was, having been let into Bucky’s safe place. 

“I know it’s not much,” Bucky said without looking at Sam.

“Bucky,” Sam said. He was breathless and warm even though Bucky didn’t have a heater on. _God._ He didn’t have a heater at all. In _winter_.

“Yeah?”

“Am I…Am I the first person who’s been here in a while?” Sam asked.

Bucky looked down, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ha. Maybe. Yes. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Sam breathed heavily, taking in every single thing about this place. He wanted to spend the rest of his life here, even if they wouldn’t have a heater all throughout winter. It would be fine, because Bucky provided a warmth like no other.

“I’ve got spare clothes. And a toothbrush. Not that I was preparing for this. I just had one lying around. And, uh. We can double up on blankets too,” Bucky said.

“You’re really going to let me spend the night here?” Sam asked. “I’m happy to go back home, Bucky.”

“I’m not happy to let you go back home—in the cold.” Bucky turned around to fetch something from the cupboard. “I don’t need something to worry about tonight.”

He turned and approached Sam with a shirt, pants and socks. Sam took them and changed in Bucky’s bathroom. It was colder in there. Bucky had a shower tub, toilet and sink all cramped into the small space. The mirror was moist with condensation. It amazed Sam that something so small could contain Bucky. 

Sam brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush Bucky promised would be under the sink and emerged in Bucky’s clothes, which were baggy on him, to an empty room. Sam sat cross-legged on Bucky’s futon until Bucky emerged from another room with a portable heater.

“I don’t use this much so I don’t kill my own heating bill. But I have to be a good host,” Bucky said.

Bucky got the heater going before locking himself in the bathroom.

Sam had to remind himself not to get too comfortable. He was glad it was Saturday tomorrow. They were going to test out the latest prototype, but it was fine. Riley could do it. Sam didn’t have to be there. This was probably the one time he’d have the chance to wake up the next morning with Bucky by his side.

The toilet flushed, the sink ran then stopped, then Bucky emerged from the bathroom as he wiped his face with a towel. He stood at the foot of the futon looking down at Sam for a while, puzzled.

“We should fit,” Bucky said.

Sam looked around the futon. It was highly unlikely they would wake up tomorrow with both of them still on the thing.

“You don’t have a spare futon around?” Sam asked. He hoped Bucky didn’t. He only asked to be polite, to give Bucky the opportunity to back out of sleeping with him. And, unfortunately, _just_ sleeping.

“I mean, I could throw a blanket on the floor and take another pillow. You can take the futon,” Bucky suggested.

“No, no, no,” Sam said. He blushed as he realised the desperation he exerted himself with. “I don’t want you to do that. You’ll _freeze_.”

“I can withstand the cold. I reckon I could survive in Siberia actually.”

“Can you just lie down now?” Sam asked. He was scared that if he had to continue staring up at Bucky from the floor he would get aroused, as the position lent itself to erotic thoughts.

“I’ll lie down if you move,” Bucky said.

“There’s nowhere to move,” Sam said.

Sam took the right side of the futon and laid on his side. He felt Bucky fall beside him and adjust himself. Bucky threw the blanket over the both of them and everything stopped after that moment. There was a long moment of no movement.

“Hey, Bucky?” Sam said.

“Mhm?”

“Someone gonna turn the light off or?”

Bucky chuckled. “Right.”

Bucky stood and Sam almost whined aloud at the loss of warmth. The lights turned off and the darkness that enshrouded the room and stole away the image of Bucky confronted him. He soon found comfort in the sound of Bucky’s socked feet padding against the floorboard and the whir or squeak of his metal arm with each slight movement. Bucky settled beside him once more. Sam wanted to move onto his other side to bury his face into Bucky’s neck.

“Sam?” Bucky asked.

“Uh huh.”

“It…It takes a long time for me to sleep. So if I move around a lot…yeah.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said.

“I hope this is nice for you. If it’s not I can find another way to sleep. I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay, Bucky.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh huh.”

“Really sure?”

“Really sure, Bucky.”

Sam desperately wanted to roll over and give Bucky all he had; his warmth, his love and his thanks. He wanted Bucky to know that he was glad he was alive.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky sighed. “I just. I wanted to let you know that I really respect what you do. Helping people and all that.”

“Thanks.”

“There needs to be more people like you. I really, just, appreciate it. Even if you’re not helping me personally.”

Sam swallowed. His emotions were gathering inside him like storm clouds. The tears began to fall.

“And you’re so. Like.” Bucky sighed again. “Sorry. Since you’re here I have someone to talk to while I can’t sleep. So my mouth’s kind of going for it and my brain’s not being much help.”

“That’s fine, Bucky,” Sam managed without sniffling or getting choked up.

Sam buried his face in the pillow as much as he could to stifle his sobs. He didn’t have enough energy to stop himself from feeling everything all at once.

At some point in the night, Sam fell asleep. He woke to the scarce sunlight filtering through the places where the paint cracked on the windows. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry and it felt as if a block of ice was pressing against his chest.

The icy sensation was Bucky’s arm. Sam rolled over and yelped. Bucky’s eyes shot open.

“What? What did I do?” Bucky asked, eyes still closed.

“Nothing,” Sam groaned. He buried his face in Bucky’s chest. “Your arm is fucking _cold_ , man. And I think I got my nipple stuck in the gap or something.”

Then, Sam tensed.

“Oh my god,” he said as he scurried away from Bucky and ended up on the floor, which felt like skidding along an ice rink. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was…”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said. He seemed still bound to the spell of sleep, half his face obscured by the pillow and eyes barely cracked open. He extended his arm towards Sam. “Get back up here.”

Sam did. Thinking since he’d already embarrassed himself, he rested his head against Bucky’s chest again. Bucky wrapped themselves once more in the blanket, then kept his hands tucked behind his head.

“Thanks for letting me stay the night, Bucky,” Sam said. “Rogers must have been treated so well growing up, having you as a friend and all.”

“He sure was,” Bucky said. “I was always getting that kid out of trouble. Then puberty hit him like a freight train.”

Sam rolled over onto his back. “I should probably go home actually.”

Bucky’s right arm fell over Sam’s chest, obstructing his efforts to rise.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s still cold,” Bucky said.

“It’ll get colder,” Sam said.

“We could get breakfast. Or if you don’t wanna go out, I could make breakfast. I’ve got pancake mix here somewhere,” Bucky continued.

“I want to go out, Bucky. That’s why I’m trying to get up but your heavy ass arm is trapping me to your tiny ass futon.”

“Fine. I’ll pay you back for breakfast.”

“No breakfast, Bucky.”

“Just—“

“Let me go, man!”

Bucky tensed at Sam’s outburst.

“Sam…”

“Bucky, sorry it’s just…”

“I heard you crying last night!”

Sam sat at the edge of the futon with his back to Bucky. Now he was just embarrassed.

“Sam, honey, I…”

The emotions that simmered within Sam heightened to a hard boil. He turned around and almost came at Bucky so quickly and with such a loose grasp on his mentality that he feared for just a second that he would swing his fist at him.

“Don’t call me that! Don’t…don’t call me that if you’re, if you, if you’re not gonna…”

With similar unrestraint Bucky came forward at Sam, who in the brief second it took for Bucky to come at him he had felt so much. He realised that he didn’t know what Bucky was capable of and what he’d been through. He didn’t know what he thought about when he was alone. He didn’t know Bucky Barnes. For that moment between when he lunged forward and when his lips crashed against Sam’s, it was everything. Bucky’s lips against his felt like the equivalent of a promise that everything was going to be okay. In that moment it was. In that moment it didn’t matter that there were still a million walls built between them that would take a long time to break down, because Sam was in it. He was in love with Bucky; a love that was unbreakable and exhilarating but made Sam feel like he was closer to dying than flying ever did.

Eventually the tears fell freely. It was a different type of crying that took the weight off Sam’s shoulders. Inside Sam it felt as if two stones were moved aside to allow a stream of water to pass through, emptying a dam, and by the end of their first kiss Bucky felt a positive emptiness. Bucky’s fingers were on Sam’s jaw, the metal so cold it felt as if it was piercing his skin, but that was fine, because it penetrated Sam’s warmth to create a magical sense of equilibrium. For the first time in months Sam felt as if he were in balance rather than teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Bucky held Sam in place, not letting him go, and Sam could only respond by becoming Bucky’s. Sam’s shaky fingers moved to rest on Bucky’s shoulders and it felt as if he was giving him everything he had. He dedicated his energy to the kiss, inviting Bucky’s tongue with his own, and the feeling of them becoming one eliminated the frost that encased his very being. The way Bucky pulled him into his lap made Sam feel like the sun that dominated his sky. It was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever let himself become too accustomed to when Steve had left them alone at Stark’s party over a year ago; the centre of this man’s attention, this man who hopefully wanted Sam as much as Sam wanted him.

“Sam?” Bucky whispered when they pulled apart.

Sam bumped his forehead against Bucky’s. “Mhmm?”

“It’s…It’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I mean, the last time I had sex was in the army. And, uh, that was a bit rushed to be frank. And yeah…this might be bad,” Bucky admitted.

“It’s fine.” Sam kissed Bucky’s cheeks, then his nose. “We don’t have to have sex, Bucky.”

“I know. Okay. Yeah. But can you, um, can you jerk me off? I want you to do that. But obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Sam reached his hand into Bucky’s sweatpants and took his partially stiff cock in his hand.

“Is this alright?” Sam asked. Bucky nodded.

Sam rubbed his thumb over the head and watched Bucky closely. Bucky reached his right hand into Sam’s pants, but Sam moved.

“No thanks. I want to focus on you. Is it okay if I do that? Is it okay if you can’t touch me yet?” Sam asked.

Bucky nodded and kissed Sam on the cheek.

Bucky leaned back on his hands as Sam worked on his cock. Sam took it out and let it jut out from his pants.

“Can I suck you off too?” Sam asked.

“Um, I don’t know. Don’t know if I’m ready for that right now,” Bucky said.

Sam bent down to kiss him. “That’s fine, Bucky.” He gripped Bucky’s cock again. “Tell me how you want it.”

“Slow at first please,” Bucky said.

Sam held Bucky’s hand as he stroked his cock. He did as asked: slow at first. He pumped his fist up and down the length of Bucky’s cock in smooth motions. Bucky breathed heavily. After a few slow strokes Sam began moving his hand up and down faster. He quickened his pace until at one point Bucky had told him it was good enough and Sam had kept it there.

“ _Ugh_ , Sam?” Bucky rasped.

“Uh huh,” Sam responded, equally breathless.

“You know how you said— _ah_ —to not call you ‘honey’?”

Sam slowed his pace. He dragged a fingertip from Bucky’s balls all the way to the head of his cock. Bucky groaned.

“ _Ah_ , yeah, so can I call you that now? Now that we’re—yeah?” Bucky asked.

“You can call me anything you want. Just not ‘sex mask,’” Sam said.

They leaned forward at the same time to kiss.

Bucky finally fell onto his back when Sam returned to his fast pace.

“ _Fuck_ , babe,” Bucky moaned.

Sam was hard. He had no intention to reach into his own pants yet. He wanted to focus on Bucky. He switched hands.

With the length of time it took to get Bucky off, Sam softened eventually. Sam saw as Bucky watched that gradual progression. Bucky’s eyes began to water.

“Bucky, hey.” Sam tried to reach forward to cup Bucky’s face in his hands. Bucky dodged his touch.

“Sam, stop. Just—stop please!”

Sam stopped. Bucky pulled his pants back up immediately and sat up. Sam sat back as well. He didn’t feel bad, nor embarrassed or ashamed, but rather a tremendous amount of guilt. He wanted to wrap Bucky back up in that warmth they shared during their first kiss, but Bucky had his knees pulled up to his chest and looked everywhere else but Sam.

“Bucky…”

“Don’t,” Bucky said. There was a vacancy in his gaze.

When Bucky finally looked Sam in the eyes, he asked Sam to go.

Sam didn’t question it and went home in Bucky’s clothes.

 

\--

 

Sam lounged around in Bucky’s clothes. He didn’t have the heart to wash them yet. He slept in them for two weeks. He dreamed about Bucky’s natural body heat when he was cold. Bucky was M.I.A. in the virtual world and there was no way Sam could pull him back into his life. Sam had to be patient, but his patience wore thin. He didn’t know how strong he could be having had a taste of Bucky and having it stripped away from him too quickly.

Natasha was around to give Sam free counselling, but she was similarly preoccupied with Steve and Sharon, whose problems surpassed Sam’s. Sam was, plain and simple, heartbroken. He was another victim of love, one of the complex pleasures of life. Love could never be felt the right way. It was never without an inherent set of problems. He’d lamented that enough for one lifetime.

New Years’ Eve was a hindrance rather than a celebration. It occurred at Natasha and Clint’s newly renovated place. It was disastrous on all levels. Steve and Sharon were unable to coexist with one another months into their marriage and pregnancy. With them wafted a tainted air. They pointedly ignored each other and spent the occasion in separate rooms. With the flurry of other guests, it was easy to miss their tension.

This was untrue for Sam, who spent the night making bets on Bucky’s arrival with Steve, who was equally distressed about his own personal life.

“Kind of amazing how childish this all is,” Steve said. His voice echoed, competing with the soft thump of the music from beyond the door.

“I’m not the one who pleaded to lock ourselves in the bathroom,” Sam said.

“You were complicit in this decision,” Steve argued.

Sam said nothing. He glanced at his watch.

“Do you plan on seeing the fireworks?” Sam asked.

“How long do we have?” Steve replied.

“Few minutes.”

“Bucky’s not here. Have you heard from him?”

“No.”

It was true. It had been almost two months since they had last spoken. Bucky was never available on social media and Sam was too scared to text him, fearful that his simple desire to get in touch with him would be the impetus to their ultimate destruction.

“Were you the last one that spoke to him?” Steve asked.

“Probably,” Sam said.

“Hm. Anything happen?”

Sam told him in very brief sentences what had happened. His energy was yet to come back to him. His final moments with Bucky left Sam almost a soulless vessel.

“I’d give you a justification for his behaviour, but then I think that maybe it should be Bucky who should tell you,” Steve said.

“He doesn’t need to tell me anything,” Sam said. “It’s only human of me to _want_ him to. But he doesn’t have to. And I’ll never ask him about it.”

“Then how do you expect to get anywhere?”

Sam shrugged and turned his back to Steve. Steve knew how to look at Sam just the right way to make him crumble. Steve was a constant available shoulder to cry on. Sam had cried too much for one year.

“I think there’s still a possibility of me dying happy without having Bucky,” Sam said.

Steve scoffed.

“It’s just that in order for the possibility to become my reality, I would have to start now. I would have to discard Bucky Barnes indefinitely.”

Sam heard the shout of _one minute_ from outside.

“Just don’t wait too long to have something that you could have right now,” Steve said.

“I’m not waiting to have anything. I’m trying to do the opposite. I can’t have Bucky,” Sam said.

“No you’re not. You’re running, Sam. You’re never going to have anything without complications. It just so happens that the thing you want comes with many barriers. Trust me. I know about waiting. I _know_ about barriers.”

Sam knocked his head against the door.

“Sam, can you turn around please?”

Sam did.

Steve indeed sported that sympathetic look that made Sam feel guilty for keeping things from him. That was Steve, one of his very best friends, who could be hurt and still save others. Steve stood up from where he was previously seated on the toilet lid and put his hand on Sam’s shoulders.

“You’re going to be alright, Sam. And I can speak on his behalf on this one; so will Bucky. I’m glad it was you to fall in love with him. It couldn’t have been a better person.”

The countdown started outside.

_Ten, nine…_

“You’re a huge bag of testosterone with an even bigger heart, Rogers,” Sam said.

_Seven._

“And even still you’re the better person out the two of us. Sorry it couldn’t work out,” Steve said.

_One._

They embraced in a way they hadn’t embraced in almost two years. Sam buried his face in Steve’s neck. He missed the unparalleled safety that could only be felt from hugging a friend. As they held each other, the world erupted around them. Sam prepared for the sound of the fireworks and as they burst in what Sam imagined was their vibrant fury, he didn’t need to feel scared. Steve was there, warm and ubiquitous, giving him the temporary comfort that could suffice while the man Sam really wanted was lost somewhere in the world.

“If you two are flooding my new bathroom…”

Natasha paused when she witnessed Steve and Sam holding one another. When Sam opened his eyes he was shocked at how much he’d missed Natasha’s presence and, more so, Bucky’s looming figure behind her. For a fraction of a second there was a brightness in Bucky’s eyes. That brightness dimmed when his eyes fell upon Steve and Sam.

“Happy New Year?” Natasha said.

“Is Steve in here?” Sharon had asked when she appeared beside Bucky. Her eyes narrowed at Steve.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Steve,” she said, hands on her hips, which were wider. “Really. Honestly?”

She stormed away and Steve chased after her. Sam was left under the scrutinising eyes of Natasha and possibly Bucky’s, although he could not bear to glance at him.

“James was looking for you,” Natasha said before she disappeared, no longer a buffer between Sam and the thing he loved but simultaneously feared the most.

Bucky walked away when Natasha was no longer between them. In a Steve Rogers fashion, Sam went after him. Even out in the foyer the fireworks could be heard. Sam’s head was spinning. He thought he could see the walls shaking. He caught Bucky in the elevator. It closed them in.

“I know what that looked like—“

“Me too,” Bucky interrupted. He stared forward, posture straight.

Sam’s already fragmented heart crumbled into smaller pieces. He thought maybe he would go into cardiac arrest with how much his heart ached. Bucky had dressed up in a denim jacket, dark jeans and hair tucked behind his ears. He was a masterpiece in every sense of the word. Beautiful and untouchable. Untouchable because Sam had fucked up in a more colossal way he could imagine.

“Bucky, Steve’s with Sharon. We’re not like that. We wouldn’t do that to the people we love. That really, really, _really_ was not what you thought it was. We were having a moment as friends,” Sam explained. He felt as if all the oxygen was escaping him. He gasped for a breath. It didn’t register to him that he was crying when he felt a tear splash onto his neck.

The doors opened and Sam tried to keep pace with Bucky, but Bucky moved swiftly and with purpose. And his purpose was to be as far away from Sam as possible.

Sam had been faced with many truths in the past year. But this one was the most painful: Bucky wanted to be away from him. The cold air was like a violent assault. Every step forward to catch up with Bucky, who travelled with a purposeful spring in his step, felt as if he were pushing against a wall.

“Bucky,” Sam whimpered.

Bucky turned around. More tears fell down Sam’s face when he absorbed Bucky’s indifference to his pain.

“Why wouldn’t you just come clean then? About you and Steve? Why did I have to find that out from Natasha? Why couldn’t you have just told me the truth?” Bucky spat.

“Steve and I aren’t _like that_ anymore, Bucky. You have to trust me!” Sam pleaded.

Bucky sighed and rubbed his gloved hands over his face.

“Sam, I'm sorry. I'm being irrational. But I can’t be with anyone, Sam. Alright? You especially.”

Bucky wasn’t on the brink of tears. He was stone-faced, but the anguish did a good job of shaking him.

“I don’t fucking know why I thought this could be a simple thing. It’s not. It never is,” Bucky said.

“Why can’t it be me? Why can’t you be with me, Bucky?” Sam asked. The tears had no intention of stopping, flowing as if they had a mind of their own. Sam’s vision of Bucky was hindered by them. Everything he could see looked drenched like watercolours. Bucky was the smudge at the centre of everything that Sam couldn’t clean up.

It hurt Sam more to be told by Steve that there was no one better to love Bucky than Sam. Sam felt as if the buildings were falling on top of him.

“Sam, it’s…It’s not just you being with me. I can’t be with you. I really can’t be with anyone. There’s no hope for me, okay? Relationship-wise. I lost the only person I ever loved. In the army. I was a stupid soldier who stupidly fell in love with another soldier. And I had to watch as I lost them, okay? Had my hand on their heart and felt it stop. I can’t go through something like that. I’m not gonna survive it the second time. So give us both this, Sam. Please? Let’s avoid hurting each other.”

The buildings stopped falling. They granted Sam a tiny space to squeeze out of. For once, Sam was being given a moment. A moment that was his. He would say goodbye to Bucky, because that’s what he wanted in that bathroom, and Sam deserved to get what he wanted.

Even if it hurt now, Sam did it. He watched Bucky walk away and become that incomprehensible smudge in Sam’s water-colour vision. And he did it for himself. He did it for that possibility, that reality thirty or forty years from that moment, when he could say that he still died happy without ever having had James Barnes.

 

\--

 

Sam didn’t have Bucky. The impact of that realisation varied. Some days felt like a day closer to something that was the opposite of pain, but then the day after that would feel like that that night where Sam felt as if he were being toppled by buildings.

But he still got out of bed regardless of what type of day it was. Steve was convinced that Sam was running from something he was too afraid of. Sam had called it bullshit to Steve’s face multiple times. The decision to watch Bucky walk away was a selfish one. Sam had done it for himself, not for Bucky, and Bucky had walked away for the same reasons.

 

\--

 

Sam stood at the top of Stark Tower. He had the equipment strapped onto him tightly along with his usual pair of ridiculous goggles. It was all very uncomfortable. Sam wore Bucky’s sweater, the one from months ago, still unwashed.

Tony Stark was in an even more ludicrous get-up, all red and gold metal.

“If it stops working, don’t panic. I’m right behind you.” Tony reassured, securing his mask on his face.

“I'm not gonna have to do an interview am I?” Sam asked.

"Samuel, those people down there with cameras aren’t simply there to upload them onto Instagram and hashtag it. We’re giving them a story. We’re showing the world that people can fly. Yes, you have to do an interview."

Sam took a step closer to the ledge.

“You better catch me,” he said, looking back at Tony. “Because it’s not gonna be a very good story if I die.”

Tony patted Sam on the butt to urge him forward more, which Sam didn’t appreciate. He walked forward until he could walk no further. Being this high reminded Sam of a conversation he once had about what the view was like from his apartment. His response was something about how it didn’t make him feel on top of the world. Here he was, quite literally on top of the world, and yet Sam still felt somewhat grounded. He knew what feeling on top of the world was like, and it was like being in a ratty apartment on a futon with a man you loved. He was possibly more anxious then too.

“Is a countdown okay? Or does that feed into your anxiety? Remember you can back out any time, but we’ll lose the story, and—“

“Just give me the three, two, one,” Sam interjected.

At one Sam didn’t jump, but fell forward. He adjusted himself in the air. The feeling of crashing through walls when really there was nothing there was a familiar sensation. He could hardly feel his heartbeat, which had pounded so hard his body shook when he was on top of that building. He sliced through the air, muscles tensed, arms by his side. He was only scared for a second, but in that second Sam thought about every single thing he’d done and every decision he’d made. The last thing he thought of, before what he thought was certain death, was Bucky.

Alarmingly, activating the wings came to him as a fleeting realisation just before he could crash into a taxi. He redirected his trajectory and shot back into the sky, momentarily blinded by the flashing cameras as he made that sharp loop upwards. The flight back up was smooth, although slower, as he felt as if a boulder was attached to his leg. The equipment was _heavy_.

He’d forgotten Tony Stark had been flying with him the entire time until he had landed back on Stark Tower a second after Sam.

Sam was hunched over, hands on his knees.

“Woah, woah, woah, buddy. You alright?” Tony asked, knelt before Sam.

Sam nodded. He exhaled a final long breath before he stood up straight.

“I guess you’ve got your final product, Stark,” Sam said. He extended his hand, which Tony shook.

“I’m more than happy to have you and Riley a part of the marketing for this. In fact, they want a photoshoot—“

“No photoshoot,” Sam said as he removed the equipment. “And no goddamn interviews.”

That had been the height of Sam’s life without Bucky Barnes. And even throughout his triumphant feat of flying, Bucky had still crept his way into his mind. Bucky, who had been more excited at the thought of Sam flying than Sam had.

“Look, it’s the _real_ Captain America,” Clint had bellowed when Sam finally arrived at the celebratory get-together courtesy of Steve and Sharon in their apartment which they finally lived in together.

“I have the pictures saved on my phone,” Steve said as he hugged Sam.

Sharon cupped Sam’s face in her hands. “I was so sure you were going to die.” She kissed him on the nose. “No offence.”

Natasha had given Sam a similar sentiment before enveloping him in the tightest hug they’d ever shared.

Sam couldn’t enjoy it. Flying wasn’t flying anymore without Bucky somewhere to express enthusiasm on Sam's behalf.

He got back home early in the morning. He hugged himself in bed, unbothered to slip underneath the covers. Sam thought about that life he thought he was on his way to having, the one that would inevitably end in happiness despite the absence of Bucky Barnes. He finally deliberated the real chances of that. His refusal to remove the sweater Bucky had given him was a major indication that he still wasn’t living the rest of his life. The rest of his life had paused and had been laying waiting patiently for Sam in a ratty apartment.

For the first time since that night, he messaged Bucky and told him he was going to come over. He didn’t want an unprecedented arrival furthering the disaster it all already was.

His face was numb when he arrived at Bucky’s, a whole hour later. He underestimated the strength of the cold early in the morning. He looked down at his exposed hands to reassure himself that they were connected to him. For the entirety of the trip he was certain they’d become casualties of the cold.

He pressed the number for Bucky’s apartment number. A beat later, the door clicked open.

Sam counted each step that brought him to Bucky’s floor as a method to calm himself down. By the time Sam reached Bucky’s door, his heart was still beating fast, but rather as a result of cardio than nerves.

There was the jingle of the door chain and then Bucky was there.

Just hours ago Sam had been closer to death than he had ever been, but right there standing before Bucky Barnes was the closest he’d ever felt to having a real heart attack.

“It’s cold. You should come in,” Bucky said.

Sam rushed inside. It was hardly warmer than it was out there, but Bucky had the heater running. The thought of Bucky getting the heater out in anticipation for Sam’s arrival made Sam break all over again. Sam paced by Bucky’s futon in an attempt to warm himself up. Bucky lingered by the door like he had the first time Sam was there.

“I didn’t think of anything to say,” Sam said, hoping that honesty would set this off to a good start.

Sam tried to think of when their true beginning was. Bucky had greeted him at Steve’s birthday that one year, but that didn’t count as neither of them seemed to have any recollection of it. Then there was the second beginning, when Bucky had referred to Sam as a garment he’d been wearing on his face and Sam feigned to know him. He wondered if had that night gone differently would Bucky Barnes have become the love of Sam’s life. Was Bucky Barnes always the predestined love of his life?

“Do you remember what you said that night on New Years?” Sam asked. He employed Bucky’s manoeuvre; looking anywhere else but the subject of his misery.

“I remember all of it,” Bucky said.

Sam continued to pace.

“You gave me the choice to walk away,” Sam said.

“I did.”

“Except you didn’t.”

Sam turned to Bucky.

“You didn’t give me any choice,” Sam continued. "You said you couldn’t be with anyone. You disguised it as giving me a choice, but you did it for yourself. And for a long time now I thought that when I watched you walk away, I was doing that for me. But I really wasn’t. I’m so far gone for you Bucky that I let you convince myself to get hurt for you.”

“I still mean what I said,” Bucky said.

Sam matched his confidence.

“I know there’s nothing I can do to change your past, Bucky. There’s probably nothing I can do for you except be there for you. I can promise you I’ll be there. I’m asking you to let me be there,” Sam said.

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this to you. I don’t know if I’m ready to hurt like that again. You’ve already done so much for me, Sam. You’ve already brought me back to life,” Bucky said.

“So then _have_ me, goddammit,” Sam said with a heavy sigh. He felt full to the brim, but the tears had already been washed out. All he had was taken out of him that night on New Years. “God, Bucky. I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life. And we’re here, you and I, survivors of all the shit life has thrown at us and we can’t have it because, because…”

Sam turned his back to Bucky. He rubbed his cold hands over his face.

“I could never hurt you the way you were hurt the first time, Bucky. Because I’m not your first love. I’m not…” Sam let out a sadistic laugh when his eyes flooded like a flash flood, the inside of his chest feeling like those tornadoes that formed over water. Who was he kidding? He still had more feelings in him. “I couldn’t be like whoever it was the first time because they’d already been there to sweep you off of your feet. I couldn’t have swept you off your feet like that. No one ever does it as good or better the second time. And nothing ever hurts like it did the first time, Bucky. If something happened to me it wouldn’t, god, it wouldn’t be the same…”

“You’re right,” Bucky said.

The coldness came back to penetrate Sam like an icy dagger. The truth hurt more when it came out of somebody else’s mouth. Always more.

“Sam,” Bucky said. His voice rang closer.

Bucky turned him around and Sam closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Bucky like this. Not while he was about to say words just to hurt him.

“Please, oh God, baby. Please look at me,” Bucky whispered as he held onto his face and kissed him twice on the forehead.

Sam opened his eyes but kept his stare at Bucky’s torso.

“You’re right. It’s not going to be the same as the first time. Losing you isn’t going to be like losing him. Because losing you would feel so much worse. And you're also wrong. You _did_ do it better the second time, swept me right off my fucking feet and slammed me to the floor. I didn’t think back then that I hadn’t even felt real happiness yet. But this is it. And that fucking _scares_ me, Sam. Because it means that wasn’t real pain either. Oh, Sammy.”

Bucky pulled him into his chest. He rested his cheek on Sam’s head as they swayed back and forth together. Sam trembled beneath Bucky’s fingertips and Bucky wanted nothing more than to take away every single thing that ever hurt Sam Wilson.

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky sighed. “I didn’t mean to do that to you. I never wanted to do that to someone I love. I’m sorry. You’re so beautiful. You made the world start moving again for me. God, I don’t know why I thought I could live the rest of my life without feeling you’re skin against mine. Do you remember that night we slept together?”

Sam made a noise.

“It took me hours to get to sleep. But you were just there. Your shirt rode up and I could feel your skin and I just... I realised that I was so close to you and I never wanted to let you go. After that night I wanted to rip off all the newspapers on my windows so I could see the sunlight in my apartment again.”

“Oh my god,” Sam said. “God, Bucky. I fucking flew hours ago and this caused me more stress.”

“I know. I saw it, baby. I saw the video. Thought I was gonna lose you right then and there for a second.”

Bucky took Sam’s face in his hands and gently peeled him away from his chest. When Sam was freed, Bucky pressed their mouths together. They kissed until Sam’s face dried. They kissed until their legs grew tired. Then Bucky bumped their noses together and promised Sam he would take care of him, that he would do better and promised that the fact that he would say goodbye to him one day wasn’t enough to scare Bucky off anymore from the thing he wanted the most.

And Bucky wanted Sam. Sam wanted Bucky.

Bucky took care of Sam, left kisses all over his body and whispered more about the promises he intended to keep until Sam fell asleep tucked against him. The last thing he’d said had been a tangent about the winter, some ambitious claim about how he’d get a job just so he could help pay the heating bill. Then, in the event of being unable to do just that, Bucky settled for a much simpler promise: when Sam worked late nights during the winter when it was at its harshest and most unforgiving, Bucky would always be home, ready to take him inside and hold him until he was warm again.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Told you it was silly and dramatic. Thank you so much for reading! Every comment is loved, cherished and never forgotten! (edit: I have a [tumblr](http://bamsucky.tumblr.com/) now)


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